


I Thought I Heard the Lark Singing

by Mercia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awesome Jane Foster, Childhood Memories, Death, Family Angst, Family Issues, Gen, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, POV Third Person, POV Thor (Marvel), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor: The Dark World, Wakes & Funerals, rip me and all my fics, yes i am starting another wip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:06:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercia/pseuds/Mercia
Summary: Loki dies on Svartalfheim. Except, he gets back up.





	I Thought I Heard the Lark Singing

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my beta @fine-i-give-in as always <3 <3 <3 she's literally the best

It seemed to Thor that Loki had the penchant for always almost dying, and the talent for not really dying. Thankfully.    
  
Because Thor was sure that his brother had died in his arms, honourable at the very end, with that slightly pensive, resigned look on his face that seemed all too familiar these days. Thor's cheeks had been stained with mud and tears, eyes red and a little puffy, as Jane watched on with pity, probably trying to process the whole thing. His tears had trickled down from his own cheeks onto his brother's, now pale and grey. Loki had gasped his very last breath, or what it had seemed like, and whispered, "I didn't do it for him."   
  
And then, he'd died.   
  
And not a minute later he was back on his feet.   
  
Not that Thor was complaining, of course — because he definitely wasn't, even if the rest of Asgard might've been — but mostly he couldn't really understand it.   
  
His brother always did like a bit of theatrics, and defying what seemed impossible.  _ Tricksters _ , thought Thor privately.  _ Those damned tricksters _ . Because his brother had always been predictably unpredictable so it was almost always better to just stop trying altogether. He knew better than to ask, at this point.   
  
Unfortunately, of course, Jane did not.   
  
"Wait, so tell me how you got impaled, literally, by a spear and died and now you're up and about again?" She demanded, frowning – but she was astrophysics not biology and Loki wasn't even the same species as her, so Thor didn't quite understand how she expected herself to know. But that was scholars for you: always setting themselves unrealistic goals. They were supposed to be wrapping up the Aether to bring back to Asgard, and Thor could almost literally see the patterns and equations trying to match up in her head and, and all the conclusions seemed to draw short.   
  
Loki smirked, something strange in his eyes which, for some reason, Thor found deeply unsettling.   
  
"Magic," replied Loki, is if that was all there was to it.   
  
And, oh no. Thor was not prepared for where this conversation was leading.   
  
Jane scrunched up her nose and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before taking a deep, long breath. She let out an impatient sigh. "There's no such thing as—"   
  
"—Magic. Yes, we know," interrupted Thor quickly, placing a kiss on her cheek and carefully picking up the Aether, now back ìn it's container and wrapped in Thor's cape. "It's just science you don't understand," he finished for her.   
  
"Yet."   
  
"Yet," he allowed.   
  
It was kind of surreal, Thor thought to himself, the situation. On Svartalfheim with two of his favourite people after a perilous adventure: his lover and his brother. It seemed almost ideal — save the fact that he still couldn't tell if Loki was in a murder-y state of mind or not, and, when Heimdall inevitably brought them home, it would likely be his cell that he would be led to, not his rooms in the palace.    
  
Loki might have preferred that, now. He was always Mother's favourite and she his. It might have seemed that there was nothing left for him at the palace. Nothing but sharp and aching memories, probably confinement in his rooms, anyway, and their father. Or perhaps just Thor's father, if either of their words were anything to go by (and to Loki, he knew, they were close enough to a disownment.)   
  
It would be awkward, for sure. Especially with Jane around and Father's comments about goats and whose opinion of her seemed to be even more degrading than Loki's (who apparently liked her, and Thor wasn't quite sure what to make of that.)   
  
Absurd, it seemed, that just a year and some ago, Thor had been in the process of becoming a King, and Loki had seemed perfectly rational (the most rational of them all, in fact) and they'd been merrily slaying Frost Giants, and there had been no Aether or Tesseract at all, and Mother had been alive.    
  
Thor tried not to dwell too much on her for now; there would be time for mourning later.   
  
For all intents and purposes, Loki seemed to be coping just fine for someone who had been dead only a few moments ago. Perhaps he was used to it, Thor thought morbidly. He was certainly more experienced in the field than most others.   
  
Loki always was a fast learner, after all.   
  
Thor cleared his throat. "Heimdall!" he called, raising his face towards the sky. "Open the Bifrost!"   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Mothers funeral was by and large a solemn affair, which Father had surprisingly let Loki attend, albeit through a window. Still, it was something at least, and Loki did not protest at the situation as much as he'd thought he would.    
  
It was strange.   
  
Sure, his brother had still done a bit of his usual "you're not my father" and "you hypocritical swine" malarkey (granted, in much more eloquent, subtle words), but not so much as usual. Mostly Loki had just seemed sad — a correct, healthy amount of grief when one’s mother just had died.   
  
Which in itself was odd, but Thor tried to dismiss the thoughts because, well,  _ his _ mother had just died and so he was very due for his share of the grieving too.    
  
Besides, maybe it just meant that his brother's mental state was getting better. Maybe.   
  
Mother's funeral pyre was made from a mixture of Elder and Pine, and Thor watched the flames as the raft and his mother drifted further out into the water and away from him.  It looked, he thought, as though the flames from the opposing woods were battling it out, almost. The flames at war with each other to see which could burn brightest and consume fastest. It was a silly thought, because it was all just fire anyways, but it was all Thor was willing to really think about.     
  
Jane stood next to him silently, and every few seconds he could feel her eyes drifting up to look at him, as though there was a chance he might have disappeared between then and the last few times she'd looked, which he was certain he had not. Perhaps there was some dirt on his face or something. She was holding his hand, though — tightly but not too tightly. Just the right amount to feel she was there with him, but not so much that she was all there was, if that made sense, so Thor reckoned he ought to have been a little more grateful.    
  
He wasn't though, because his mother was dead.   
  
_ Valhalla _ , he reminded himself vehemently. There was always Valhalla. And that was where she was drifting off to now, supposedly.   
  
Loki had never really been any good at dealing with things like death, and he knew it. Which was a little ironic considering how many times he'd died.   
  
It reminded him of when they were younger and Mother had told them their old stallion that they'd shared had died — of what, Thor couldn't remember — and Loki had been quiet the whole evening. The next morning, Thor had snuck into his brother's room to find the curtains burnt down and his silly glass vials, which held his  _ seiðr _ things like plants and stuff, had been smashed on the ground and it had all just been a wreck, to put it quite mildly. Thor had found his brother lying on the floor under his bed just staring toward the wooden frame as though he was sleeping only with his eyes open.    
  
Or of that time when, and they'd been a little older (not enough to be of age, but old enough to not be considered boys anymore), the news came that one of the servants had died — Mavis who had been pretty old but not quite dying-old and had always made them their favourite foods, even when they returned back to the palace late — She'd been good like that. Thor had been sad about it, of course. He'd gone straight to the training guilds looking for a fight, just to sweat it out. But Loki, on the other hand, had gone done to the smoke-room (where they smoked all the meats and herbs) and, he'd heard, just sat there for hours until he damned-near fainted from the dry heat. Just to sweat it out, he'd told Thor later, one of those dreadful grins plastered on his face.   
  
Death, Thor considered, had always made Thor want to punch things, and for Loki it had always seemed to make him want to get punched. They fit that way, as brothers, he supposed.   
  
Mother's funeral was cold, even with the fire and near all of Asgard there to mourn and pay their respects and celebrate their once-Allmother. Thor looked down on them from where they were standing on the raised platform (because they were Asgard's King and Crown Prince and there were traditions to be upheld), at all the heads looking at where his mother burned over the waters. It made him despise it, sort of, because it would probably have been nicer to just look at her corpse by himself, but it was still nice to see how well loved she'd been by her nation. She was, after all, not just his mother but their Allmother also. Mother's funeral was cold and the wind was wet, like that sort of whipping thick mist which was dense enough to be wet but not so to be rain, and it was kinda nice that.    
  
It was as though the sky was mourning  _ for  _ him, which Thor could have done himself, of course, but it was quieter this way; people talked less when it was cold and wet. And that was nice (or as nice as it could be — His mother was dead.)   
  
The flames were growing higher and wilder now, even though the air was so wet, and he could see the burning structure of the pyre beginning to collapse in on itself and on top of where his mother's body lay. For some reason, he couldn't draw his eyes away, which he supposed was natural considering it was his mother, but he felt like he should have been closing his eyes or something, at least looking away. Like maybe he should have been letting her travel up to the old halls of Valhalla in peace, privacy, instead of with tens of thousands of prying eyes. Like it was a performance.    
  
It was always a performance.   
  
But the sight of it, the curling oranges and reds and brushstrokes of green seemed to imprint on his vision, even through the fog and the wind spitting into his face, and Thor could not look away.    
  
It would just be the three of them now. Him, Father, and half of Loki. So two and a half, actually. Mother had always been half of Loki, it seemed like, and he was half surprised he hadn't died with her. Morbid though it sounded.   
  
Mother's funeral technically didn't really stop after the funeral, only after all the mourning had finished (to which Thor thought it never would), but it seemed as though time stopped for it. If Mother had died on the fourth weekday, the fifth would commence only after a week and a half of mourning-days and honouring-days. It gave them time, quite literally, to deal with it. To do nothing but just sit and mope, which was all Thor really felt like doing.    
  
After the funeral, Loki had been sent back to his cell, even though he had helped to save Asgard and probably the rest of the Nine as well not yet a day ago. But really, nobody had expected anything else, even though it was a little disappointing. Thor suspected he knew how to get out of it anyway.    
  
So Loki had been in his cell for the feast afterward, and Thor had left early. Or as early as he was able, which really wasn’t very early at all, being a prince.    
  
He was grateful, though, to Jane. Being the Midgardian meant that for once he was not the centre of attention and the rest of Asgard found it entertaining to have a mortal in their midst. And Jane said she didn't mind amusing them, even though, in the right state of mind he would probably have been annoyed for her sake — she was good like that, his Jane. They asked her things like, did they still live in caves and travel around in ships and sacrifice their livestock, and Jane kept answering "some do… yes, I think there are people who do this… not everyone but some…" because there were so many Midgardians milling about Midgard and they were all so very different that Jane didn't understand them all herself and that probably nobody could, and all this time she'd had this patient little smile on her face which Thor silently commended. Jane reminded him of Mother in that way, both so graceful and kind.   
  
By the time Thor had managed to slip away, during the bard's eleventh tale that night — and thanks to Jane's grace again, no less, because she was "only a Midgardian and ever so tired" — he half expected Loki to have bitten his fingernails raw, or to have scratched his skin so hard there'd be more bone to see than anything else except maybe blood.   
  
He hadn't though, which was surprising, but Thor wondered if it would perhaps come later. Or if Thor would need only touch him and the glamour would fall away in spluttering green embers.    
  
When he reached the cell, Loki was rubbing at his eyes, which were red and a little stolen, and it only looked as though he had been crying.    
  
"Loki," said Thor, and then just sat himself down in front of his brother's cell and said nothing after, closing his eyes.   
  
He could sense Loki watching him in a way, but it didn't feel like Loki. He couldn't describe it. He knew what Loki's gaze felt like, being very familiar with it, and this wasn't it; but there was no-one else who could have been watching him save Heimdall, so it must've been him, even though it felt like it wasn't.    
  
"Thor," Loki said, eventually, "What do you want?"   
  
Thor shrugged and kept his eyes shut. Nothing. There was quite literally nothing that he wanted, but he wasn't quite cruel enough to say that what he desired was a lack to someone who had experienced the Void. So he shrugged and said nothing.   
  
Loki hummed and said, "Okay," and Thor thought he might have been crying.   
  
It didn't sound like him either.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Thor didn't plan to stay on Asgard long, it would be awkward, just Father and him doing things like eating breakfast together, which was a stage in his life he never thought he'd reach. But Mother had always served as their balm of sorts to soothe things over.   
  
It was what Jane was trying to do, a little. Except it was much worse because a few days ago Father had called Jane a goat, and Jane had the patience of Wise Mimir but like him, she did not forget. She was, after all, considered a genius. She just kept saying how nice the food was, or how on Earth they had something similar, or how it was such a pleasant day for a walk.    
  
It might have been, except there were other factors which affected walking than weather.   
  
Father excused himself as soon as he'd finished his morning ale and had patted the breadcrumbs from his royal silks, and Thor did not bother to ask him where he was going in such a hurry – time had stopped after all – because he didn't feel like it. However, Jane did, apparently. Norns knew why. Personally, it was better to leave the old man to his devices. There were things that the Allfather knew that Thor didn't, so who was he to question that?    
  
Thor's father grunted in response, probably at her impudence, and just said, "To see Loki."   
  
Now that was surprising.

If Thor was the kind of Prince Loki had been, then perhaps he would have followed the Allfather down to the dungeons, after all, the two of them had always used words like they were medicine and poison and you couldn't tell which one. Perhaps he might have learned a thing or two or have noticed something he should have. 

As it was, though, all Thor could really think about was the pear tree mother had planted just over a year and a half ago when Loki had “died.” it wouldn't be bearing fruit yet, wouldn't even be very grown yet, but he just wanted to look at it for some reason. Perhaps he would take Jane there; it was a nice day for a walk, after all.

It reminded him of those Midgardian cemeteries, Mother’s orchard did. Only there were no gravestones, but instead trees from every realm imaginable. 

Loki had always liked pears, which was probably why she'd picked it. Thor, though, he preferred oranges.

“Well,” Thor said, eager to end the conversation before it began, because a proper conversation between his father and Jane sounded like it might be particularly tiring. “See you in the evening, then.”

After he left, Jane turned to Thor, a questioning expression on her face. She didn’t look annoyed or anything, per se (because after first impressions, Thor reckoned Jane enjoyed his father’s company just as much as Loki), just...exasperated. She didn't say anything, though, so it couldn't have been too bad.

“What?”

“Nothing,” replied Jane, looking like she wanted to go on but had decided that for the welfare or everyone, she wouldn't. “I wonder what your father is visiting Loki for,” she said instead. 

Thor shrugged. “It probably doesn't matter. Nothing ever seems to actually happen when those two talk, anyway. Shall we take a walk?”

“All right.”

It was warm outside, and sunny, though the ground was still a little wet from the day before. Thor couldn't decide whether he preferred it or not, which for some reason really mattered. And he didn't want to make the sky change himself, because it just felt like he'd be participating in the world too actively, which he wasn't in the mood for. One had to be in the right kind of mood for those sorts of things, you see, which he just wasn't. Not like he used to be. 

Before he had used to swim along the river, going with the current, even sometimes hurrying it along; but now he just wished to float, and for the river to become a pond, stagnant. 

Objectively, the thought was depressing as Hel, but Thor didn't really care — which, if anything, was even more depressing. 

Anyway, it was sunny and warm outside, and Jane didn't hold Thor’s hand like yesterday but instead walked a little ahead, her steps so light he thought she might float. It was clear that Jane was excited to be going to the gardens, looking at all the different Asgardian flora, and some which had originated elsewhere, even if she was not a biologist, but that she was trying to hide it because the garden had belonged to his mother. 

Perhaps it still did. Could dead people still own things? Otherwise, probably, it would belong to no one, save the Norns themselves — or if Loki was ever free, then probably him, he and Mother were always each other's favourites.

To be honest, Thor thought that he probably would have preferred if Jane just did what she wanted — run, skip, whatever — not that he didn't appreciate her consideration. It was just that everything seemed so weird and out of place already, nobody was acting normal anymore, and it would have been a pretty sight, Jane flitting about the garden at all her discoveries, weaving through the sunlight, probably barefooted, a smile gracing her lips and looking happy in Mother’s strange cemetery. It would have been what Mother had intended for the garden anyway, to bring joy. 

Jane didn't do much of that; she held herself back, restrained herself. But it was nice to know she was acting for his sake; it was nice when you could tell people cared, even if they were trying not to show it — if anything that was nicer, because Thor had lived his whole life with people trying to show off how much it was they cared for him. In any case, it wasn't a bad walk.

Despite the lack of Mother herself, her magic still held over the gardens, lingering in the air. Thor wasn’t an expert on magic, though, so he wondered if the magic would stay, stilted, even without the source, or if the gardeners would just have to tend for the flora more obsessively now, to keep their conditions. If Loki ever got out, he’d do it. Which would be a little odd, tending to his own gravestone. 

“I don’t think I want to stay here,” said Thor, as Jane was turning over an apple in her hands.

She turned to face him, and it made him want to look away, but he didn’t. “Here like in the garden, or here as in Asgard?” 

Thor shrugged, he’d been doing a lot of that lately. “I’ve always liked Mother’s orchard. It’s nice. Have you seen Loki’s pear tree yet?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, shaking her head. “And it’s okay that you want to leave. You could probably do with a bit of a break from this place, after all. Are you going to come back to Earth?”

“Maybe. Probably. Yeah. There are other places too, though.”

Perhaps it was high time for another little adventure with Sif and the Warriors Three — after all, it had been over a year since their last one, and the Bifrost had been mended. They’d go hunting for elk, or something of the sorts. Something light and less likely to result in exile and almost collapse of the Yggdrasil and his brother dying. 

But, then, it was best to set his expectations low.

“Mother only planted Loki’s pear tree not long ago, so it may not bear fruit yet,” he said, pausing on their route. “We might have missed it.”

It was later when they returned indoors, that late part of afternoon but not quite evening, and when they saw the Allfather it was announced that Loki would be free the following day.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't gonna be complete any time soon but in the meantime feel free to send me encouragement. I have a plan, i just need to write it...
> 
> thanks for reading :)


End file.
